Human Anatomy
by Odyssion
Summary: UlquiHime drabbles. They go through the motions of what it's like to be alive.
1. C uriosity

**Human Anatomy**

_Disclaimer:_ I don't own Bleach – the characters are merely borrowed for the purposes of this non-profit yet hopefully entertaining story. This applies to all chapters published forthwith.

_Author's Notes:_ Well, it's not the first time it's been done but I thought I would try my hand at the Ulquiorra/Orihime pair and write myself a series of drabbles. These can be taken independently or they can be linked together to form some sort of cohesive 'plot'. I have eight chapters planned for now, but I may insert more as more of the series becomes available (and also depending on my mood). I plan to update this story weekly.

Comments would be greatly appreciated!

* * *

_I. Curiosity_

-

When she had first stepped into their world she gasped for air. Ulquiorra found this act both strange and slightly irritating, as it reminded him far too much of birth in the sense of which no Arrancar had ever known. Aside from that sound when they first arrived, she was silent and nothing but silent in her first days of entrapment. He had been too naïve in human ways back then, believing that her silence could last forever.

Akin to a child she began to question him about the most trivial of things.

"Ulquiorra-san, does Aizen-sama not like the daylight?"

"What makes you ask such a question?"

"It's always dark here."

"There are places of daylight in some of the outer compartments."

"Indoors?" Her face held a look of disbelief.

"Yes."

"Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

When she finally donned her new clothes, her sombreness grew. They complimented and contrasted her in strange ways, these garments of fear and servitude. He almost felt a sense of loss at the disposal of her former self. It was a diminishment of power.

He didn't know if it was a good sign or not that they don't bring an end to her questions.

"Ulquiorra-san."

Her meal was only half-eaten as usual. He noted mentally that she was beginning to look haggard.

"If souls are already dead, why do they bleed?"

It was not his job to humour her, but he did it nonetheless. "Aizen-sama created us to be this way."

"I don't just mean the Espada, Ulquiorra-san," she said quietly. "Shinigami bleed, too."

He pondered her words for a moment before leaving her to her thoughts. Curiously, he had no answer.

* * *


	2. G u ilt

**Human Anatomy**

_Author's Notes:_ There are now ten planned chapters to the story. If you have any suggestions or requests as to an emotion you would like to see written, let me know and I will see if I can follow your lead. Big, big thank yous to reviewers.

* * *

_II. Guilt_

-

Orihime was remarkably sensitive, much more than she ever dared to show.

There were heaps of tragedies, mounds of sadness that she had accumulated slowly into her soul. It took her a long time to get over her brother's words. How sorry she was that she had hurt him. There were also the unsaid words she kept frozen, waiting for a spring to thaw their loneliness and manifest them into being. Even Ulquiorra's brusque irritation at her ignorance, this developing Stockholm syndrome, caused her no small amount of grief.

Orihime didn't believe in regret, so instead she lived with blame.

Ulquiorra watched her place the morsels into her mouth, watched the line of her throat as the chewed lump descended down her esophagus and fell ungracefully into her stomach. His eyes never stopped at her chest but instead roam all the way down to her belly and she shivered when his gaze met hers again.

"Why do you watch me eat?" she ventured. "It must not be very interesting."

"Humans are uninteresting by nature."

She put down her fork, resolved never to be uninteresting again.

Her stubbornness lasted several days. In that time she felt a change in the atmosphere, thought she detected more than one presence that was familiar. Blindly she pushed away the thought of rescue; she had made the selfish choice, she had chosen to be a martyr. She had no right to expect any more than she had given.

Ulquiorra was always watching, even when he wasn't visible. The pressure of his reiatsu was as natural now as breathing. She took no notice.

When he first told her that "they" had come to rescue her, she was horrified to first feel a tinge of excitement, then shame. When she slapped him for saying her friends were all fools she felt nothing but the stinging pang of guilt. There were monsters in her head she hadn't known existed, trying to convince her that he was right.

Much, much later, she would realize that it was the first time they had ever touched each other; constant proximity had obscured this glaring, trivial fact. Orihime felt her chest expand.

This, too, made her feel guilty.

* * *


	3. O b s ession

_Author's Notes_: The site has once again taken away even more formatting options. I must say it gets increasingly frustrating.

* * *

_III. Obsession_

-

Soon after her friends arrived, Orihime became obsessed with numbers.

She would count the digits aloud when she was alone (which was almost always), trying to assign some sort of significance to each. In that period of fixation she could not encounter anything without trying to allocate it some sort of numerical value. By her calculations, there were five of her friends to rescue the six petals of her Shun Shun Rikka, and one of her to stop the annihilation of thousands of lives. Often she found that one repeated itself the most: one of Aizen, one of the Hougyoku, one of Ichigo and his characteristic smile.

Yet despite this, the number she was most acclimated to turned out to be the number four.

"Ulquiorra-san," she began, "how old are you?"

He watched her impassively for so long that she was certain he wouldn't answer. "Espada do not have ages. We are simply created and removed when no longer needed."

"You mean you don't know when your birthday is?"

Ulquiorra turned away from her, his eyes distant. "Arrancar do not have the luxury of such a thing as birth."

"Oh." Orihime deflated slightly, but brightened again instantly as an idea hit her. "But you could decide your own birthday! I've always wanted to be born on February 29th!" He let her talk uninterrupted until she stopped herself. "So it's decided! What day…"

Her words faltered. She glanced through the barred windows, wondering. "What day… is it?"

"Why is time so important to humans?" Ulquiorra asked, truly curious.

Orihime smiled thinly. "So that we know how long we have left to live."

The silence intervened until she broke it again. "But you never answered me, Ulquiorra-san. What day would you like to be your birthday?"

He frowned at her disapprovingly. "I do not see the purpose of such an endeavour. To an Arrancar, every day in eternity is the same as the next."

"It can be a break from the monotony."

Ulquiorra had already opened the door to the room. "I will be back in four hours to check up on you."

"February 29th it is," she whispered when he had gone.

-

It had been seven visits since she decided on his birthday.

"Your friends are quite troublesome." He leaned casually against the wall, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

She had decided not to let the outcomes of any battles unnerve her. "They can take care of themselves."

Ulquiorra made a noise akin to a scoff. "Your side will never triumph."

"There are thirteen Gotei captains and ten ranking Espada," she said logically, ticking them off on her fingers. "Those sound like pretty good odds to me."

He scoffed again before unceremoniously tossing her a gift. Ulquiorra never looked her in the eye as he turned and never looked back to watch her unwrap it.

"Take it," he had said stoically, "to count the days you have to die."

Moonlight glinted faintly off the glossy paper of the calendar. The sound of the door shutting echoed several times about the room.

Orihime found herself smiling more than she ever had since she arrived in this inverted world. She used it instead to count the days they had known each other.

Orihime still doesn't know what day it truly is, but she finds that it doesn't really matter.

* * *

-o-

* * *


	4. J e a l ousy

**Human Anatomy**

_AN:_ Random blurb: chapter -108? (Insert confusion). But 'tis good. I've been trying to write an Aizen/Urahara for ages.

* * *

_IV. Jealousy_

-

"Ulquiorra-san."

He has never liked his name before but it always sounded better from her lips.

"What is it, woman?" Coincidentally, he never used hers.

She had her back to him again; he had learned to decipher that this meant she had something on her mind.

Orihime sighed heavily. "I'm jealous of you, Ulquiorra-san."

He blinked several times, balked by this unexpected revelation. "What makes you say such a thing?"

She glanced at the left side of his chest where the number 4 was tattooed onto his skin, over his heart.

"Nothing in particular," she said, and turned back to the window.

He didn't know if she wanted his power or if she wanted to lose her own emotions. Ulquiorra felt the flux of reiatsu that she must have been hanging onto and understood that either way, none of those feelings were directed at him.

-

The invader he wanted wasn't hard to find. Easy prey, in fact.

When he plunged his hand into Kurosaki Ichigo, he vaguely had the thought of ripping out the heart that she wanted so badly to have and presenting it to her. Human ideals were terribly romantic lunacies; the heart was nothing more than a source of life, not emotion. Knowing this, he couldn't explain the insatiable urge he had to understand how emotions worked. He left the boy for dead but didn't bother to finish the job because it had somehow become distasteful to him. He dismisses the look he imagined would be on her face at news of this boy's death.

-

She had asked him once, long ago, why he looked after her.

Ulquiorra had looked at her disapprovingly and she hastened to add, "I know Aizen-sama ordered you to, but you don't have to spend so much time here. I…I won't try to escape or anything." Her eyes were downcast. "I'm not powerful enough for that."

"It must be unpleasant for you if my presence is a source of annoyance," he had stated drily, "but it is for your own protection."

She had looked at him quizzically. "My protection?"

"There are many here who would do you harm."

"But why? I don't understand."

He raised his hand and began to form a Cero, pooling the destructive green light on the tip of his finger, pointing it straight at her. Orihime's eyes had widened a fraction more than usual. Ulquiorra released the blast.

When the smoke finally cleared, there was a hole the size of a small crater in the wall behind her directly over her right shoulder. She hadn't moved or tried to defend against his attack.

Ulquiorra had watched her the entire time, slightly perturbed. Her heartbeat hadn't quickened at all.

"Arrancar are born from fear. You, living in this world, do not live in fear like you should."

He hadn't known how to react when, upon leaving her room, he found that his right hand was shaking.

* * *

-o-


	5. H a t r e d

_V. Hatred_

-

Her insides were an ugly place, serving a heart that threatened to turn traitor.

She doesn't remember when it started. One brief flash of envy, perhaps, or a vague irritation that refused to disappear. Since she was young Orihime had never tried to judge or compare herself to others. She had never wanted glory or attention or affection, but perhaps this was because she had always had these. With increasing alarm she noticed that she frequently compared herself to Rukia, wondering what it was about the small shinigami that captured Kurosaki-kun's attention. She wanted to be as smart as Ishida-kun, as strong as Sado-kun, as brave as Abarai-san. Everything and nothing, all at once. She became shallow and derisive, rotting from the core, never voicing these feelings out loud. These thoughts plagued her daily in her muted existence as her fingers curled in the fabric of her dress. Her own ineffectual hands used to be enough to make her weep. She hated her powerlessness and clung desperately to the tragedy of her brother, picking at the scar to justify her overwhelming self-pity in a life that was, for the most part, happy. Now, when her sorrows can amount to something, she finds that the tears do not form. Sad, frightened, frustrated, her eyes can remain open for as long as she pleased without so much as a single drop of moisture. She was caught between emotions, none of them good, as if constant exposure to despair had left nothing in her but the things she despised most about herself.

She wonders how she got this way.

-

If he were capable of feeling he would pity her, trapped in a cage she both wanted yet was hesitant to leave. He saw it in the way she flinched sometimes, trying not to show emotion when he mentioned her friends or Karakura town. He believed she was caught between selfishness and altruism – saving her friends meant losing herself, for the second time. He believed she was caught in battles outside when in reality she was trying to control the ever-present wars within her mind.

Ulquiorra thinks she doesn't know how to hate, which he finds an unfortunate deficiency. Even when she is attacked she does nothing to defend herself, going so far as to heal those who had inflicted the damage.

He couldn't have known that she had been grateful for it, grateful for what she thought would finally pull the plug and release the yearnings that were haunting her. Everything she had ever wanted to say but couldn't poured forth in torrents from angry, venomous lips. She thought that after it was over she would get the chance to cry, to heal, to fix everything. But even that small glimmer is taken away by the appearance of Grimmjow.

"Ulquiorra-san," she asked one day, "Do you hate me?"

He never hesitated before saying to her, quite bluntly, "I do not feel anything towards you."

"Oh." She glanced at the hole in his neck, somehow crestfallen. "Oh."

In truth Orihime hates herself more strongly than anyone could ever dream.

* * *

-o-


	6. Elatio n

**Human Anatomy**

_AN:_ Since we are now in flashback the conclusion of this story will inevitably occur before the end of this arc. I think this is for the best, although I really dislike these flashback chapters for some reason.

I also apologize for the long delay between updates; they should be more regularly from now on although not as frequent as before.

* * *

_VI. Elation_

-

Happiness, they say, is a double-edged sword.

Orihime believes there is a fixed amount of joy in the world, distributed in unknown ways by an omnipotent hand. Like a wayward breeze the hand is never steady, never still, not quite disciplined enough to wave evenly every time. Orihime is accustomed to good and bad days, but in her cell at Hueco Mundo she is never quite sure enough to believe that at the end of the day there will be her due of sunshine.

She doesn't think much about the fairness of what she has been allotted; in many ways she is luckier than most. By the time those two Arrancar had come to mutilate her, her heart had been so mired in sadness that she had almost been happy at the thought of death.

But the possibility of that happiness is snatched away from her when Grimmjow appears. When he takes her to Ichigo, her elation shifts. The rollercoaster of her emotions screeches to a halt as Ulquiorra blocks their way, never looking yet seeing everything. He barely glances at her, barely acknowledges her existence – and while these are actions that he performs regularly enough, she somehow feels like she has betrayed him.

The tide ebbs again as Grimmjow battles Ulquiorra – and after, when Ichigo battles Grimmjow. Oddly enough, as Ulquiorra's impassive face matched blow for blow with Grimmjow, she hadn't known who her heart wanted to win. When Grimmjow's body is a bloody mess and Ichigo's is only slightly better, the finality of their words almost makes her believe that this would indeed be the end of it.

But her joy had been fleeting because at the sight of Nnoitra she knew they would never get out without help. Her heart sinks. Then like a miracle Kenpachi appears, and when he defeats Nnoitra, Orihime's heart suddenly realizes how wide the world is, how full of opportunity. It rises and expands to something beyond the comprehension of physical form, bigger than the universe, larger than life. In those precious few seconds, as she takes those fatal steps toward Kenpachi, Orihime truly believes that she has absorbed all the happiness of every living being into the fibres of her pores. She barely feels the touch of Stark's hand on her waist, the pulling pressure on the cells of her body as she is transported back to the place she wants to escape so badly.

Ulquiorra once told her that joy is sorrow in Hueco Mundo. When Aizen touches her cheek again, she understands exactly what he means.

* * *

-o-

* * *


	7. Hopelessne s s

_VII. Hopelessness_

-

The tower is a peaceful place, perfect for solitude and contemplation, the two companions she does not want in her eleventh hour. From her vantage point the endless sands of Hueco Mundo stretch ever onward, as far as the eye can see and beyond. Orihime paces around the room in perfect circles, following the curvature of the walls. Aizen has modelled his new sanctuary to reflect the Soul Society of old; as she spies the seam in the heavens ripping open and re-seal after Aizen's departure, Orihime thinks she understands exactly why it had taken Rukia as long as it did for her to recover from such imprisonment. To observe all facets of the world around oneself yet remain unable to interact with it – it is a torture far removed from the pains of physical harm.

There are no birds in Hueco Mundo, nothing that could fly so high as to reach the loneliness of her confinement. The revelation of the vastness of the universe, not long ago heartening, now serves to sink her sorrows into the depths of the earth.

The door that she can't see, ever hidden by its flawless integration, swings open languidly to admit her one and only visitor.

Ulquiorra never speaks during these visits, simply leading her caretakers in a perverse custom that provides food and clothing. She's sure that he's no longer bound to her well-being, but perhaps he had become so accustomed to their routine that he simply did so without thought. Orihime doesn't cling to this futile, childish hope; the necessity of life, its usefulness, crumbles under the weight of such absolute despair.

She is staring across the expanse of the desert as she always is when addressing him.

"Do you ever feel like the sky is falling?"

Orihime tilts her head sideways and watches the bumpy horizon sink a few centimetres along her line of vision. Unconsciously, Ulquiorra has inclined his head ever so slightly to mimic her movement and startles himself in doing so.

He scoffs at her words. "What an absurd notion."

At his words, Ulquiorra can feel her smile even if he is badly placed to see it. "I thought you'd say that."

From this distance the moon fits between the distance of her parted fingers and she brings down the tips of her thumb and forefinger to crush it into dust.

"I think I'd be sorry if you died," she says, as if their positions were reversed and he is the one on death row.

Ulquiorra never responds; her hands are still suspended where she touched the moon and he doesn't bother with a parting word before closing the door, locking her back in her pervasive isolation.

His steps echo loudly on the way down as the thought of death assaults his mind. He begins to think that, in the end, none of them will survive this desperate attempt at living. _'I think I'd be sorry if you died,'_ she had said.

Somehow that comforts him.

* * *

-o-

* * *


	8. Des i r e

**Human Anatomy**

_AN_: Super glad the pendulum has stopped. It makes life much easier to write these chapters when the storyline is actually following the same events. Reviews are and have been greatly appreciated!

* * *

_VIII. Desire_

-

The days stretch into weeks without change and her hopelessness accumulates into a lump of yearning, a burning desire to see, to feel, to _have_ something outside of this quietness. There is time enough and more but she can never get her thoughts in order. She doesn't know what it is she yearns for, yet it is a longing so deep, so primal, that it claws away at her insides: beating on her heart, scratching at her throat. Her fingers reach for the stars, never touching. Had the sky ever been so beautiful? She wants so badly to hurt, to love, to smile, to die. She wants it all because it is all the same.

We hurt because of the things we long for, someone had once told her. She doesn't know her own soul. She longs for death as earnestly as she pushes it away, never quite knowing why she should die, or live, or be caught in between.

_Ulquiorra is walking death_, she thinks as he visits her. She wants to run to him, to throw her arms around him, to feel the touch of another being on her skin. Yet to move, to stand, to walk – all of these are frightening motions, ones that constitute a sentient being. And she's not sure what she is, these days.

"Hello, Ulquiorra-san," she greets languidly, watching the desert.

'_My heart is already with them_,' she had said, never fearing her imminent demise. She never looks at him, never even acknowledges him, but Ulquiorra can tell she is trying to get some sense of the battle, reaching out with her soul to that distant place they both know she won't be able to reach. It's a thought that frustrates him, her irrepressible, futile wish. It's a thought that he wished she would save for herself, or for those closer to her now.

"You want them to win the battle," he states dryly. The attendant that had followed him, bringing her the daily nutritional supplements, is long gone.

"I want them to win the war," she counters, turning to look at him but not seeing him at all. The truth of this fact angers him somehow. Behind her stretches the troubled sky, forever dark, forever haunting. She likes the sky at Hueco Mundo more than the clearest blue in the real world. Orihime turns back to the window, fond of the stability offered by her only view.

She wants to be that never-changing moon, always perfect. She wants every infinitesimal drop of happiness and sorrow in time to mix and meld the pieces of her being. Orihime _wants_, and she doesn't think Ulquiorra understands the concept at all.

"Have you ever wanted anything for yourself?" she asks, thinking it a rhetorical question.

What she does not expect is to feel his hand on her shoulder, swinging her about. If the look of anguish on his face surprises her, it is nothing compared to how she feels when his lips crush against her own, when he forcefully pushes her to the ground and with deft hands begins to undo the buttons of her clothes. His pale skin is unexpectedly warm as it slides against hers, as he makes love to her and shatters every hope she has of leaving nothing behind, of dying with no regrets.

That night, Orihime learns that Espada have more desires than any human could ever dream.

* * *

-o-

* * *


	9. Re g r e t

**Human Anatomy**

_Author's Notes:_ Man, it's been a while! I'm so sorry it took such a long time to get this up. Thanks so much to the positive reviews for the last chapter, it was so encouraging to see that so many people enjoyed reading it. I hope you'll like this new segment just as much.

We are drawing near to the end of this fic. If the quote from Ulquiorra is a little off, I apologize, but it's been a while since that particular manga chapter came out. It's been a while since I've written anything so this may be a bit rusty, but as always, comments would be greatly appreciated!

* * *

_IX. Regret_

-

She wakes up to an empty couch, empty but holding a trace of warmth. A blanket is carefully tucked under her chin, her clothes neatly folded, lying on the armrest. She hums as she pulls the garments back on, her body unfamiliar after such an encounter. Had her hand always curved that way when she flexed her wrist, edging it out between the cottoned sleeves; had her calves always tightened so when she stood on one leg, guiding the other through the leg-holes of her underwear? It is a curious notion, sensation with renewed sight, that makes her grateful there is no mirror in the sparse room. Surely with such a luxury, Orihime would have wasted days eruditely watching her own reflection.

She is sitting expectantly when he returns with her food, as she knew he would. Ulquiorra is mostly a creature of habit. There is a smile on her face but he doesn't see it with his downcast eyes, angled away from her. Orihime's heart constricts when he doesn't beckon her over, when her feet propel her of their own accord toward him. She doesn't dare call his name now.

A shadow moves in the corner of her eye and it is the extension of his hand, trembling just above her elbow, hovering infinitesimally above the sleeve of her garment. His eyes stare unseeing, not meeting hers, and it is a cycle they repeat many days over. She doesn't know when it will end, but she thinks that perhaps things will be alright.

*

Orihime feels his presence before she sees him, radiating kindness and power. His name is caught on her lips as Ulquiorra blocks her way, the sound swept up in the whirlwind of his anger while his left hand, never touching, presses her back. Still he has not looked at her since the night they made love.

"You are wasting your time. I will not kill this girl until I am ordered to do so."

She watches as they duel, fiery supernovas locked in battle. She can't follow their movements with her eyes so she closes them and just feels the fight with her body, absorbing it through her pores. They both begin to slow as the combat wears on, finally coming to land on solid ground. Ichigo is badly wounded, Ulquiorra dirt-stained.

"Kurosaki-kun," she whispers, and he turns to her with that charming smile.

"Don't worry, Inoue," he says gruffly, "I said I'd save you, and I will."

There is a flare of green light, a warning Cero that illuminates the room. With a slash of his sword Ulquiorra sends Ichigo crumbling, bleeding, falling, falling, and she imagines the rippling shoulder muscles that made that movement, the same mounds of sinew and flesh that she had held on to so desperately.

Their eyes meet in that instant and she sees in those orbs the lament of his existence, the lament of hers. Orihime finally understands, from the deprecating apology of his gaze, that he has regretted their transgression ever since. She has now become a habit, an addiction he can't quite shake, a companion that was never meant to be.

Ulquiorra sheaths his sword with a sad finality as the dull thud of a body hitting ground reaches her ears.

At that moment she doesn't know what she regrets the most: Ichigo's lifeless body staining the ground crimson, or the sudden certainty that they had reached the end of their improbable future.

* * *

-o-

* * *


	10. A p a t h y

_Author's Notes:_ The manga is finally returning to the Ichigo/Ulquiorra fight! Alas, I've already chosen how that would end, so this is obviously AU. Happy Holidays to all (comments are a terrific gift)!

* * *

_X. Apathy_

-

Orihime lets him carry her back to her room of imprisonment without protest, without awareness, without anything, overcome as she was with shock and despair. The foundations of her faith had been knocked loose. Ichigo was dead, and Ulquiorra forever lost to her. He carries her like a small child, trekking slowly up the spiral stairs to her tower. Orihime doesn't see the stones that flash past her eyes, or hear the heartbeat that is pressed firmly against her ear. She no longer cares for the feel of his touch on her skin, the roundness of the moon. The world was small as dust and empty as the sky.

When she doesn't eat or drink for two days, Ulquiorra threatens – as he did the first time – to force the food down her throat. She doesn't flinch or rebel at the suggestion. The scene beyond the window no longer interests her and she gazes now at the darkened ground. When he puts her under observation, Ulquiorra realizes that she also no longer sleeps. Her apathy both repulses and angers him; the hubris of humans, to throw away the gift of life.

The battles progress as he knew they must. Ulquiorra is grateful that he is not required to partake in the bloodshed; he has never been one to take pleasure in killing, although there had been a twinge of satisfaction at the fall of the Kurosaki boy. There are scores of deaths on either side, too many to count, and his mind grows numb at the thought of war. He thinks that perhaps Orihime is holding on to some slim thread of hope that someone will still come to rescue her and this passive starvation is a twisted form of mourning, the only one available. Ulquiorra himself finds the concept silly, but humans were creatures of contradiction. He watches as her friends fall, one by one, until the legions of Hueco Mundo had overwhelmed the shinigami completely. He thinks that perhaps this news will shock her into emotion, into realizing that her grief and rebellion are all for nought. He tells her so the next day.

"No one can save you now."

She doesn't flinch at the news of this destruction like he thinks she will, doesn't shed a tear for her friends or the decimation of Karakura town. Her continued silence irks him, and he is about to force a sound out of her when she speaks for the first time in seven days.

"The truth is we're too small to be noticed by that infinite expanse of sky. Isn't Aizen jealous of the world?"

He is taken aback by her words, having never considered that humans as well as Arrancar mulled the question of existence.

"In the end, everything fades."

He leaves without replying, but finds the next day that a few bites are missing from her food. It was sustenance; she is alive but not living. There are cracks inside her heart that have begun to spread, crumbling everything to ashes, turning everything to ruin.

* * *

-o-


	11. In s a n i t y

**Human Anatomy**

_Author's Notes:_ This is finally the last chapter! I may write a short epilogue, but otherwise this will be the main conclusion to the story. It totally sucks that the manga is just now entering the Ichigo/Ulquiorra phase and this story is drawing to a close – but how cool was it when Ichigo told Ulquiorra he had become more human!?

Thank you for sticking with this to the end and for all the kind and encouraging comments!

* * *

_XI. Insanity_

-

Seconds and minutes ticked incessantly toward infinity while she replayed the last scenes of the fight in her mind. Suffocating darkness, the way Ichigo's decapitated body had done a comical muscle-jerk of a dance that almost resembled life. The way his staring eyes stained the ground crimson as the blood poured out of his severed neck, rolling so ungracefully. Ichigo never danced. Ichigo was never so awkward with his body.

Once, in another lifetime, she would have wondered why it was called the 5th tower. Such a number implied the presence of at least four others, although there was never anything else on the horizon. It was nothing to her now. There was a masochistic conductor in her brain who continued to switch a multitude of images in her head, the images of her life, of her brother, of everyone at school, Ichigo's smile, their fight in Soul Society, interspersed always with the image of Ichigo's dead body and Ulquiorra's transformation, Ichigo's dead body, Ulquiorra's transformation, Ichigo's dead body, Ulquiorra's transformation, Ichigo's dea—Ulquiorra's transfor—Ichigo—Ulquiorra—

She clutches her head and screams to dispel these thoughts.

He is always nearby when she does, and he enters the room with his usual nonchalance, looking down on her curled form with a mixture of pity and disdain. He never speaks but somehow his presence manages to stop her screams. It is a routine they repeat over a hundredfold.

Orihime holds tight to her sanity. Ulquiorra tells her it would be less painful to do otherwise.

-

He visits her now only for shrieks and tantrums. When it has been a full week without incident, he swings open the gate to her cage with a hint of annoyance and apprehension.

She is sitting by the farthest curve of the wall with her hands over her ears, both customary gestures. His footsteps echo softly on the unpolished stone but it doesn't stir her attention.

"Woman." He has once again decried the use of her name. Still she does not hear, and he takes another step forward, reaching out to shake her shoulder.

A prickling in Orihime's consciousness alerts her to look up, but what she sees is the long black claw of a black-winged monster. She cannot recall where, but she has seen this monster before and something in her mind screams danger. She opens her mouth to let that scream out. The face is wrong, though, familiar in a better way, two deep green eyes and two everlasting tearstains that somehow did not belong. She closes her eyes, trying to comprehend, but her thoughts are overwhelmed by chaos.

At the unexpected sound, Ulquiorra moves one pace back. He cannot see through her eyes to know the extent of her malady, the degradation of her illness. When she rushes at him, clawing with her all might at his mask, her erraticism begins to alarm him. He clutches both of her hands with his own while she continues to scream, hoping to lull her into calmness. Instead she fights to pry free from his grasp and he shoves her roughly to the ground in protest, earning a brief respite of silence.

She regards him intently in that moment of stillness.

Orihime regains her footing quietly, demurely even. She is breathing heavily but stands perfectly still, never taking her eyes off him. First she takes one step back, then two, inching herself toward the space between the stones. He had never realized until now how skinny she'd gotten. She takes the final step back, ever graceful, slipping easily through the slit in the wall to begin the descent to her death. Without thinking, without realizing, Ulquiorra has reached out his hand to her and feels himself falling, too.

Cold air pulls angrily at his skin as gravity drags him down, down, down. She smiles up at him as her body hurtles ever downward and somehow it is this that makes his blood run cold. The gap between them closes and he is within reach of her at last, within reach as he pulls her arms tight around him and the tears falling up from her crying eyes land haphazardly on his cheeks. The proximity of the tower's stones, with their special ability to suppress reiatsu, have robbed him of his powers. Ulquiorra looks about for someplace to grab onto, someplace to land, but there is nothing but desert sand around them for miles. Her hair whips furiously into his face, long deprived of its scent of flowers and innocence. Her screams have long been silenced. The ground comes up to catch them as, too late, she presses her lips to his ear with a whisper.

"Save me."

Seconds and minutes ticked incessantly toward infinity and he wants to say he can, he wants to say to her every thought that has crossed his troubled mind since she came into this world.

He holds her head tightly on his shoulder and closes his own eyes, swallowed by the depths of her insanity, waiting endlessly for impact.

* * *

**end**

-o-


End file.
